


Calla Lilies

by Zighana



Series: Teatro [3]
Category: Claws (TV)
Genre: Character Death, F/M, Flowers, Graphic Description of Corpses, Grief, Lethal Injection, Major character death - Freeform, Miscarriage, Roller living in denial, gothic horror, graves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-12
Updated: 2017-10-12
Packaged: 2019-01-16 09:15:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,785
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12339798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zighana/pseuds/Zighana
Summary: Roller visits Desna's grave.





	Calla Lilies

I remembered your favorite flower.

White Calla Lilies.

You told me on one of the dates we had; I was massaging your feet and asked you what bouquet to buy you. I think Valentine’s Day was coming up and I didn’t want to be cliché and get you a dozen roses.

Those flowers looked so…simple; it shouldn’t even count as a flower if it wasn’t for that orange stem sticking out like an unused mascara brush. But you loved them; you’d smell those things and stroke their skin with your decorative nails I’ve loved so much. They were simple, an acquired taste for beauty, and they smelled clean. It was at that moment I made a mental note to buy you those flowers whenever I got the chance.

You died on the filthy water-logged floor of an abandoned amusement park; I shot you in the chest because between the eyes felt too cruel. You started gurgling, looking at me as your final seconds of life are leaving you. You coughed up so much blood, D. 

So much…

I held you, then; I scooped you up in my arms and brushed your hair away from your face. You were gone, dead after 15 minutes of struggling. I kissed your temple, closed your eyes so my baby girl could finally get rest, my last attempt at being gentle.

I held you until you were starting to get cold and I had to get to work.

You were buried in the greenery on the outskirts of the amusement park; right under one of those abandoned roller coasters that had nature take its course. I dug a hole deep enough so the critters couldn’t come and bother you and you wouldn’t stink. I tried to place you there gently, but you were too stiff; I had to do with dropping you. You cracked something, sounded like the crunch of when you step on a cockroach. I cringed. I dumped the dirt over you, singing that oldies song you sang when we were together. I sat there with you, told you I loved you and I promise to visit you and we can talk for as long as we’d like. But I had to go. I kissed the dirt with my fingers and left.

Your grave was marked with some stones I’d found. I’ll buy you the flowers after I handled business.

 

I visited you a month later with the bouquet; everything had cooled down between me and my issues. That Russian bitch is still looking for me; I slithered out of her sight as best I can. Not even Uncle Daddy knows where I am; I didn’t bother calling him from a payphone. Nothing else mattered except seeing you, Desna. 

My one true love.

I placed individually each stem of calla lily into your grave; a part of me thought it could start a garden of lilies from your rot. I heard it from a mortician once. Each one I planted marked each memory I valued with you.

1, the first night we made love.  
2, the morning I met Dean.  
3, the time we kissed under the mistletoe.  
4, the night I mentally called you my future wife.  
5, our pregnancy.   
6, when we danced together at Jenn’s wedding anniversary.  
7, when I spent hours kissing you on Valentine’s Day.  
8, our first argument.  
9, when we spent time together laundering money.  
10, when we traveled to California for business, but we spent most of our time in bed, drinking champagne and enjoying the view.  
11, when I put a ring on your finger. I lied and said it was just because but I distinctively made sure it only fit your ring finger on your right hand. You were none the wiser.  
12, when we made love that one last time. You were on top of me, and I told you I loved you in more ways than one. It was from the heart; I meant every kiss, every touch, every hour I spent giving you pleasure slowly and deliberately. I wanted to burn myself into you for eternity. I wanted us to be together for eternity. It was supposed to be the sweetest, but your death days after left a sour taste in my mouth.

They stand in neat rows, the grass disguising their placement. They blend so well in this environment.

I tell you about what happened after your death; your friends came looking for you and found your car parked here, but they didn’t know if they kept looking they would’ve found you. They know I had something to do with your death, but they don’t have anything on me and they can’t find me. Eventually, they’ll search for you again, but it’ll be too late. 

I was going to kill each one, bury them here so you won’t be lonely. But it’ll take a whole lot of work that I’m not ready to give. I’ll settle for being the only one that has you. 

 

I came back to visit you two months later; my new location is starting to get hot. I’ve done some things I shouldn’t and have Uncle Daddy sniffing around for my scent. He thinks I’m dead for real and that you took the money and ran. He even enlisted that Russian bitch to come looking for us; my secrets are all out on the table. 

True to my word, I made sure to buy you your flowers. The previous bouquet has since withered away and died. I removed each one, admiring the sprouts and greenery flourishing from your grave. There is some truth to what that mortician said after all. Maybe I’ll plant some calla lily seeds and see what comes up.

 

It’s been a full year since I last visited you, and I apologize. I got caught up with life; I have a new identity and a new job selling margaritas to college kids on a rural beach on the outskirts of Florida. I live in a trailer park where no one bothers me as I fantasize about you.

I pretend, sometimes, that we were married and our child made it through the 9 months; it would be a baby girl. Her name is Desdemona, a name I heard from one of Bryce’s favorite Shakespeare plays. It reminds me of your name and it’s beautiful. I’d pretend that after a long day at work I’d see you, glowing and beautiful, greeting me while little Desdemona lies in her crib, happy to see her daddy. I’d swoop you in my arms and kiss you; you somehow always wore that wedding dress I’d imagine you wear.

I know the real you is 8 feet under, but it never hurts to pretend.

Those dead flowers somehow left behind seeds that grow from you; I see a garden of lilies, white and pristine, shooting up and spreading like a welcomed weed. I didn’t bother to buy more flowers at that point. 

A large rock I found became your tombstone. I kiss it, pretending it’s you. 

I tell you stories of our imaginary child. She looks like you, Desna; she’s got eyes like you, a smile like you, she’s so happy it makes me cry. 

This could’ve been a reality, this could’ve been us.

 

They caught me, Desna.

The pigs got me on some drug charge and I can no longer visit you. I had the option to snitch, but you and I both know that’s not my style. I’m sorry that I can’t visit you anymore; they transporting me to some federal prison two states over. I’m ‘high risk’, they say. 

I haven’t been to prison since what felt like forever; it almost feels foreign to me. 

I’ll let you know if I can come back to see you.

 

“We had a warrant to search your home, Mr. Husser.” The detective says, throwing a file across the table.

“We went inside and found some very unsettling things.”

“That wouldn’t be my porn collection, would it?” I ask with a smirk.

The detective’s jaw locks.

“We found a crib, with no child. A wedding dress, but there’s no record of you ever being married. We also found,” he pulls out a photo of you. It was a polaroid I took of you when you wore that black lingerie I liked.

“Desna Sims has been missing for over a year. People have been talking, saying that you and her dated. You would be a prime suspect and the last person to see her.”

“Desna had ties to the underworld,” I respond. “She probably pissed off the wrong people and would up alligator food.”

“Aren’t you at least distraught that your girlfriend has been missing for quite some time?”

I think for a second before responding.

“No.” 

 

“Roller Husser, you’re under arrest for the murder of Desna Sims.”

I was pouring the last of a margarita into a college kid’s glass when they slapped on the cuffs. They read me my rights, and stuffed me into the back of the squad car.

I didn’t even put up a fight.

They found mountains of circumstantial evidence; they didn’t even need a body. 

There was no point in lying anymore. 

I told them everything; I told them how, why, and even where you were located.

I drew them a map, circled your gravesite and said, “Follow the Calla Lilies.”

 

I was tried for murder and sentenced to death by lethal injection in the state of Florida. My death date was scheduled May 16th, 2020.

I didn’t have it in me to feel upset.

 

I lie on the table, my executioner tapping my arm for a vein

Uncle Daddy stands in attendance, shaking his head in disappointment. For a man that’s going to die, I feel calm. 

I get to see you again. 

I asked in advance if they could bury me right next to you as a final request, but they denied it. 

“Any final words, Roller Husser?”

“I love you, Desna.” I announce. I feel my eyes burn.

“I can’t wait to see you and our little girl.”

Uncle Daddy’s eyes widen through the plexi-glass, but I paid him no mine when the needle slid in and the liquid started pumping. 

I close my eyes, thinking about you and Desdemona waiting for me.

I think about her being a toddler, to a 2nd grader, to a pre-teen.

I see her in high school, waving back at me as she wears her cap and gown.

I see you and I, old and happy, in our beds as Desdemona visits us in our castle by the sea, our grandchildren happy to see their Pop-pop and Grandma.

And…darkness.

**Author's Note:**

> The scene "Teatro" where Roller had the gun to Desna's face and he said, "I'll even bury you. Calla Lilies, right?"
> 
> I took that scene and ran with it.


End file.
